


Anywhere, just not here

by Tangerine_Catnip



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Human Outsider (Dishonored), Short One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine_Catnip/pseuds/Tangerine_Catnip
Summary: 2500 Miles and 4000 years apart, two broken street kids think very similar thoughts.





	Anywhere, just not here

Thick raindrops pounded the pavement, the already murky water mixing with the layer of soot that covered every inch of the rat warren of a city called Dunwall.

A girl, not a day over 13, was curled up under the broken remains of what had been a fishmonger's stall. She had come to it with a vain hope that there might be something, even a rotting fishtail, left behind, but she had found nothing. Only rotting wood and bloodstained cloth.

After that the bitter cold had sunk in, it's deadly grip on her heart growing tighter. Her ragged clothing was soaked through, leaching precious warmth away instead of preserving it.

She tried to break free, to fight it off a little longer, but her body would not obey her anymore.

After three long days without food, she was finally shutting down. Maybe if the weather had not taken a turn she could have lasted one or two more, but it was far too late to speculate now.

Alone in the dark, her mind started to wander. What would the void be like? Was it really as bad as the Abbymen preached?

She hadn't a hope of avoiding it, if that was even possible. She had hardly lived a life in accordance with the seven strictures, and worst of all, she had blood on her hands, even if it was the blood of the heartless bastard who had snuffed out the only light in her miserable life.

If going to the void meant that she could see Deirdre again she wouldn't have hesitated for a moment... except…

This city… this rotten city had taken everything from her. For as long as she could remember, Dunwall had been more like a cage than a home. The ocean that boarded it was simultaneously a chance for freedom and an impassable abyss penning her in.

She had never even seen half as much coin as it would take to board a passenger's vessel, and stowing away would only end in her being cast overboard and drowning in the salty dark.

No matter how she planned or daydreamed, she knew she would never even set foot on a ship. But the desire still burned within her, flickering but refusing to give out.

She wasn't scared of death, in fact, she would welcome the release from the pain of an empty belly and frost nipping at her toes, but she had a stipulation. One last desperate wish that she clung to even now.

Dunwall was her prison, but it would not be her tomb. She would happily lay down and die in any other city in the empire. Maybe freeze to death in Tyvia, or be eaten alive by blood flies in Karnaca, she would even take another city in Gristol.

Clinging desperately to that thought, the girl managed to pull herself up. She got onto her knees and planted both her hands on the ground.

There was only one being in this whole forsaken universe who could save her now.

"Outsider. I don't know if your listening, but I'm desperate enough that it won't matter if you aren't." She took a shaky breath. It was hard to get the words out through her chattering teeth. "I only need one thing. I… I don't want to die here. I don't care where… just anywhere… anywhere else. Please…"

She sobbed, hot tears joining the dirty rainwater dripping down from her matted hair.

"Please…"

Her strength gave out again, and she slumped back to the grimy cobblestone. The black city closed in around her, and the world faded away.

Something woke her. It sounded like a thunderclap, or more likely, carriage wheels bumping along the uneven street. The girl opened her eyes and laying in the gutter, less than a foot away from her, was a whole loaf of dark bread.

The girl dragged herself over and snatched it up, clutching it to her chest like a rat with a crumb. She hardly remembered eating it, but it gave her more than enough to live through the night, and that was all she needed.

* * *

 

The endless black swirled overhead, each footstep on the hard stone echoing over and over until it was lost to the nothingness.

A boy, not a day over 15, gripped the hand of the old man leading him along a twisting path deeper and deeper into the void.

The boy didn't like visiting the void, but father Gregory had told him that he should be grateful, that he was being allowed a glimpse into a hidden world that only a precious few would ever get to witness.

The boy never argued with father Gregory. His life living among The Eyeless was far from perfect, but at least he never went to bed hungry or was beaten down in the streets for being someplace he shouldn't.

Still, something had troubled him from the moment he had arrived at the Shindaerey compound. Everywhere he went people whispered and stared. Some even went so far as to bow when he approached.

The boy had asked his keeper about this, and she had simply said that he was destined to become something truly extraordinary and that the others were simply showing deference to what he would become.

But the boy didn't want to become anything, he liked being himself and from what few clues he had been able to put together, he knew that whatever he was meant to do involved the void.

Apparently, the void needed him, demanded him, and he had to placate it somehow.

At last, they reached the site where the ritual was to take place. The boy recognised all who were gathered there, the oldest and wisest of the order, dressed in black robes that partly covered their faces.

They were gathered around a stone slab cut from the void itself. It looked like they were all about to sit down for dinner, except there was nothing to eat nor any silverware.

They all turned to watch him arrive. The boy slunk away, trying to hide behind father Gregory's robes.

Justus was standing at the head of the table, and Gregory brought the boy to him.

"Here you are, at last, my son," Justus said. "Are you ready to meet your destiny?"

The boy swallowed and nodded. "What do I have to do?"

"It's all simple enough. All that will be required of you is a small sacrifice. In order to join with the void, you must first be purified. For you cannot be both perfect and mortal.

The boy didn't understand, so he asked, "How do I stop being mortal?"

Justus motioned to Octavian, who was holding a large box. He brought it forward and snapped open the gold fasteners. Justus reached into it and pulled out a knife, black as the void and with two distinct impossibly sharp blades.

The boy took a step back, his green eyes open wide. Father Gregory's fingers tightened around his, holding him back.

"N-no!" The boy stammered.

"This is a great honour, and you cannot refuse it. The void calls for you."

The boy wrenched his hand from father Gregory's. He turned, desperately searching for somewhere to run, but the cloaked men were closing in on all sides.

Hands grabbed his arms and then, when he tried to kick them away, his legs. The crowd of men moved like an undertow, pulling him toward the altar.

"No! Stop! Please!"

Pain reverberated down his spine as he was forced down on the stone. Dozens of hands worked together to tie him down, first his wrists then his ankles.

Then they parted, returning to their places like pieces on a chess board. The boy looked up meeting the cold gaze of Gregory and Justus. The boy writhed against the bindings, but they were tied so tightly that every movement was pure agony.

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He didn't understand. Father Gregory had once stayed up half the night reading to him when he couldn't sleep, and Justus had often snuck him extra dessert if he asked nicely. Yet here they both were, preparing him for slaughter.

"Do not cry, my son. That is below the dignity of a god," Justus said, reaching down to force the boy's chin up.

Gregory raised a hand, and the others began to chant. Their voices bleeding together into a single harmony.

The boy glanced around wildly. There had to be some way to escape this. He couldn't die here. Not in this endless swirling nothingness. Not in frigid darkness. If he died here, he'd be alone for all eternity. Separated from everything and everyone by an impenetrable veil.

"No! No! I don't want to die here!"

His cries were lost under the chanting. His wrists were starting to bleed, and the rope was still as tight as it had always been. At last, he went limp, staring up at the double-edged blade. Justus was holding it aloft, pointed at his neck.

There had to be a way out. He didn't care if it cost him everything, as long as he made it out of the void. As long as the dark was not the last thing he ever saw.

The chanting reached a crescendo then stopped, and in the moment of silence, the blade fell.

* * *

 

All the windows in the small apartment were left wide open, letting in the moderately cooler night air. Summertime in Karnaca was not for the faint of heart and had left many Gristol-born men and woman confined to their beds with sunstroke.

A woman, not a day past 39 and a man whose years were uncountable, lay curled up together on top of the covers, each having shed their clothing to cope with the unrelenting heat.

A moment ago, they had been fast asleep, but a sudden jerk as he awoke had dragged her out of slumber along with him.

Billie groaned and blinked up at him, "Bad dreams?"

Mark let out a long breath and nodded. "You would think that after so many years of loyal service the void would leave me be."

"We carry the scars of what was done to us through the rest of our endless days," Billie quipped, reciting the very words he had once spoken to her.

Mark chuckled and moved the arm that had been resting around Billie's shoulders to her waist and pulled her in closer. The humid air made the added body heat rather uncomfortable, but the thought of trying to sleep without her touch was much worse.

"What was it about? I can't imagine how anything in the void could frighten you," Billie asked.

Mark shook his head. Billie's fingers were resting on his chest, and he intertwined them with his own as he mulled over how to explain it to her.

"It was nothing… well, nothing much. Only those last moments… when I could still see all the possibilities, and I didn't know for sure which would become reality. I wanted an ending, and I didn't really care how you gave it to me, but uh... This may sound obvious…"

Mark sighed, frustrated by his own inability to express himself. As a mortal, his thoughts just didn't seem to flow the way they used to, and they often got tangled up together so tight he lost the thread entirely.

"Would it be strange if I said that the best thing you gave me was the chance to die somewhere else?" He asked.

Billie lifted her head up, her lips pursed tightly together. A memory, coated in dust after years forgotten in the back of her mind, suddenly rose to the surface

"No… I understand what you mean. Before I met Daud… back in Dunwall…"

Billie pulled herself up onto her elbows. She had him here, and he was… well, him. Maybe now she could get some answers.

"Tell me something. I know that when you were The Outsider, you could give powers to other people and speak to them, but did you ever make things happen?"

Mark softly traced his fingers along the curve of her spine. "What do you mean?"

"Like make a loaf of bread fall off a cart."

Mark rested his hand on her lower back and raised his eyebrows at her. "That's very specific…" He closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. "No, never. He watched and influenced others, but The Outsider never directly intervened. It wasn't in his nature."

Billie settled herself back down on his chest. That's what she had thought. Not every twist of fate had him at its centre.

"But the boy who became The Outsider?" Mark continued. "He may have been moved to action once or twice. When the plight of another so mirrored his own that his frozen heart cracked open."

Billie blinked at him, then her lips pulled into a smile. "Melodramatic sap…" Billie muttered.

She shifted herself up and pressed her lips into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, giving him a soft bite in that one spot that never failed to make him shiver in pleasure.

"Guess this means you don't owe me one after all," Billie said once she settled back down in the crook of his arm.

"Nonsense. I owe you everything," Mark replied.

If anyone else had said something like that to Billie, she would have thought it was a trick or at best a lie. But there was something so pure about Mark, (as ironic as it sounded if you knew who he was) that it made you take him at his word.

"Well, we're here now, and I think this finally qualifies as anywhere else," Billie said.

"Better than anywhere else."

**Author's Note:**

> The eyeless really reminded me of the cult from Night in The Woods. Mostly because of the whole "sacrificing vulnerable youth to an eldritch horror" thing. (RIP Casey)
> 
> if you liked this story, maybe go find a song called 'Die anywhere else' and pick a vocal cover to listen to.


End file.
